


Burst With It

by WouldItWere



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys In Love, Enemies to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Memory Loss, Mildly Dubious Consent, Potions Accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:35:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WouldItWere/pseuds/WouldItWere
Summary: When a potion goes wrong and causes Draco Malfoy to lose all of his memories, Harry doesn’t understand why he cares so much about how Malfoy is doing.He doesn’t understand why he rushes to the Hospital Wing to see Malfoy, either.And he definitely doesn’t understandthis.





	Burst With It

This Potions class never failed to put Harry on edge.

Although the war was over and the Slytherins had largely abandoned their assholery, Draco Malfoy decidedly had not. Yes, he acted with relatively good manners around most people now, but he never dropped his incendiary behaviour with Harry. It was like he was incapable of ignoring Harry, or even of curbing his constant need to provoke him. Perhaps that was just Malfoy’s predestined role in Harry’s life: to get insufferably under his skin.

“Out of my way, Potter,” Malfoy sneered during one particular Double Potions, as everyone was up gathering supplies. “Some of us actually plan to use these ingredients for a worthwhile potion. Meanwhile, you can barely figure out which end of a cauldron is up. Honestly, I don’t know why you even bother showing up to class.”

Harry gritted his teeth. “Shove off, Malfoy. It’s not like I enjoy seeing your face every time I come in here. I assure you I’d much rather host a tea party for a Blast-Ended Skrewt than take a class with you in it. But, here we are.”

The truth was, even Harry didn’t know why he was taking this class. He didn’t particularly like the subject, nor did he need it to graduate. Hermione praised such a noble desire to expand his knowledge, and he pretended to believe innocent curiosity about Potions was his only motivation. But Potions alone wouldn’t have been enough to make his day interesting. No, he found himself drawn to other aspects of this class. To a certain boy in it. And _that_ , though Harry would barely even admit it to himself, was why he didn’t drop the course.

Malfoy’s face reddened at Harry’s remark. He stepped forward into Harry’s space, eyes blazing furiously.

The air between them prickled. Harry felt it burn around them as he stepped forward, too, just short of physically touching Malfoy. Their faces a hair’s breath away from being pressed together, Harry glared back into Malfoy’s eyes just as harshly. For an indeterminable length of time, they stayed in that position, both refusing to break their intense eye contact or disrupt the sizzling tension.

Malfoy opened his mouth, getting ready to hurl back another insult. But before he could speak, Professor Slughorn’s voice boomed over the class. The two of them startled apart at the sudden sound.

“All right, everyone! Please take your seats.”

They snatched up their supplies with the rest of the stragglers. Harry still felt hot, his body restless. With a last spiteful glance at each other, Harry and Malfoy moved to opposite sides of the room and sat.

Slughorn continued his announcement. “The materials I have had you gather comprise a standard Base Potion. As I am sure you all read for homework, this potion acts as a carrier for other ingredients. Wizarding families often store it in their homes in case of emergency, at which time they add whatever final components they wish. This way, they can have a quick and accessible potion for common household needs, and it will stay fresh for whenever they decide to use it. Can someone name a typical—oh, yes, Miss Granger?”

“You can add betony leaves to the potion and that will give it healing properties, especially when dealing with bites from rabid dogs,” Hermione said in one breath.

“Very good,” Slughorn smiled brightly. “Now—”

“Adding rue produces a potion with similar healing properties, and it also helps in poison recovery.”

“Right you are,” he said with an awkward laugh. “Clever indeed. Now—”

“And sprigs of lavender can be added to make a simple Sleeping Draught.”

“All right then!”

Hermione quieted and Slughorn gave another little laugh, trying to regain his composure. “Thank you, Miss Granger, for those helpful examples. _Now_ , for the first half of class, I would like you all to brew your own Base Potions. Then, I will add my own ingredients, and I would like you to identify what I have added based on the effect your potion takes.”

Hermione raised her hand again. Slughorn looked slightly dubious, but called on her nonetheless.

“Will we be ingesting the potions, Professor?”

“Some of you will be, yes. Others might simply smell them, or apply them topically. But, not to fear. I assure you that all of these potions are perfectly mundane. Headache relief or clearing the sinuses, that sort of thing. No strong effects at all.” He walked over to his desk and sat down. “Well, everyone…off you go!”

The class set to work.

Across the room, Harry was distinctly aware of Malfoy working, moving, breathing. It was like an itch under his skin that he couldn’t scratch. And any time he gave into the urge and looked over at Malfoy, Malfoy noticed and glared right back.

Finally, the first half of the class was over, and they poured their potions into phials. One by one, Slughorn came around to each of their potions and added different ingredients.

“Here you are, Miss Patil. Swish this one in your mouth.”

Warily, Parvati accepted the proffered phial and obeyed. “Oh!” she said with a start. “That cleans teeth.”

“So, I have added…?”

“African Red Pepper, sir.”

“Very good!”

From his corner of the room, Malfoy scoffed. Harry clenched his fists at the sound.

“Mr. Longbottom, rub this on your arm, please.”

“Sure, Professor. Okay…yes, that feels like the ointment my gran would use if I ever got a rash.”

“Ingredient?”

“Oh, that’s…er…what was it…”

Malfoy scoffed again, and Harry shot him a glare.

“I got it! Neem oil! That’s what they put in Fergus Fungal Budge.”

“Indeed they do! Three points to Gryffindor.”

Slughorn went around the room, his ingredients becoming more complicated with each potion. Malfoy continued to make derisive sounds and facial expressions when he was unimpressed by Slughorn’s easy questions. It made it impossible for Harry to ignore Malfoy’s presence in the room at all times. As if he could have anyway.

When Slughorn reached Harry, it took all of Harry’s willpower not to turn and look back at Malfoy, who was watching and undoubtedly waiting for him to make a mistake.

Slughorn added the ingredients and bade Harry drink. When he did, he felt an immediate burst of energy.

“Whoa!” he said, jumping a little at the feeling. “That’s a Vitamix Potion.”

“Right you are! What did I add, then?”

“Wormwood, asphodel root, and monkshood,” he said, words leaping out of his mouth in a rush, spurred on by the animating jolt the potion had given him.

“Perfect!” Slughorn beamed. Even Malfoy couldn’t scoff now, with how quickly Harry had rattled off the correct answers.

Slughorn went on to other students, but although the spike in energy faded, Harry stayed happy. Not only had he done a perfect job in front of his teacher, but he had done it in front of Malfoy, too. There was nothing more satisfying than succeeding right in front of the person whose opinion you obsessed over most.

Er, not that Harry obsessed over Malfoy or anything. But.

He fought the urge to turn around, to check to see if Malfoy was indeed impressed.

Slughorn continued around the room. Finally, he reached Malfoy. “There you go. Drink up.”

Malfoy gingerly accepted the phial and drank. Then he began to cough loudly.

“What the fuck?” he rasped, eyes going wide.

“Language!” Slughorn said, scandalised. But Malfoy wasn’t listening. The phial fell from his hands and shattered on the floor.

Slughorn’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Mr. Malfoy…?”

Malfoy doubled over, coughing violently.

“Professor, is this supposed to happen?” Parvati yelped.

“Certainly not! I—it was a mere Draught of Peace! Moonstone, valerian, syrup of hellebore…”

“You… _idiot_!” Malfoy snapped through his coughs. “I’m allergic to hellebore!”

The students let out gasps, and Slughorn paled. “Good heavens, I didn’t know! But, not to worry! The reaction won’t be dangerous, I assure you—this is a very weak potion, and the combination of ingredients neutralises hellebore’s typically poisonous properties. It won’t…”

“Of course my class is being taught by an utter imbecile,” Malfoy interrupted, bracing himself shakily against the desk next to him. “When I find out who you are, my father will have you sacked.’”

There was a pause. Slughorn blinked. “Er…come again?”

Malfoy merely ran a hand through his hair in agitation. He cleared his throat a few more times as his coughs finally subsided.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Slughorn tried again, slowly walking closer to him. “Did you say you don’t know who…?”

“Why does my head hurt?” Malfoy interjected petulantly.

“Er…” Slughorn began again. Everyone in the class looked around at each other, perplexed. “I suppose it’s a result of the potion.”

“I took a potion?” Malfoy asked, blinking in surprise. “What was in it? Not hellebore, I hope.”

Merlin, what was going on? Harry filled with apprehension and his heart began to pound. He didn’t need to look around to know everyone else was in more or less the same state.

“Just a momen—er, well, yes—” Slughorn faltered, “that is, it did contain hellebore, but what are you…?”

Malfoy cut him off. “Why, that’s an interesting name for an ingredient! What does it do?”

Harry had never seen Slughorn’s face take on that shade of green before.

“Professor…” Hermione began. Harry did not like the grave tone of her voice.

“All right, my boy,” Slughorn said to Malfoy abruptly. “I believe it’s time for you to go to Madam Pomfrey. She’ll get you sorted at once.”

Malfoy straightened, eyes brightening. “Oh, how kind of her! She sounds lovely. Where does she live?”

Someone’s bag crashed off their slackened shoulder and onto the floor. An inkwell smashed and sheets of parchment flew everywhere.

“Professor,” Hermione broke in loudly. “The syrup of hellebore. It binds the potion together. It—”

“Yes, I know,” Slughorn said, not taking his horrified eyes off of Malfoy. “Without it, the valerian becomes unstable.”

“And when valerian interacts with the ingredients of a Draught of Peace, it yields calmness, but when it’s—”

“—left in its volatile form, it assumes properties of a—”

“Forgetfulness Potion,” they said together.

Harry’s stomach dropped. No way. No bloody way.

The class was utterly silent. Only Malfoy seemed unconcerned. He was staring around the room with the guileless eyes of a child.

“There’s no telling how it’ll affect him,” whimpered Hermione in distress. “We don’t know what kind of allergy he has, how severe…”

“Someone, take this boy to the Hospital Wing,” Slughorn commanded.

A few people stepped up to volunteer. Even Harry felt his own feet jump forward, confused and desperate to act, in any way he could.

“Hello,” Malfoy smiled, waving at one of the volunteers nearest to him. “What’s your name?”

The student looked at Slughorn helplessly, fear written all over her face.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Malfoy went on when she didn’t answer. “I’m…” He paused. Then, “I don’t know. Who am I?”

Everyone gaped at him in terror. Harry’s heart was practically beating out of his chest.

But, they needn’t have worried. Suddenly, Malfoy’s eyes lost focus.

“Oh,” he said softly. “I believe I am going to…”

He didn’t finish. The next moment, he collapsed onto the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.

Someone screamed. The room descended into chaos.

 

 

By dinnertime, the entire school buzzed with the news: Draco Malfoy was sitting in the Hospital Wing, and he had lost all of his memories.

Professor Slughorn was in the dungeons, hurriedly preparing the strongest Memory Potion he could brew. Malfoy’s parents had been contacted, to see if their presences would jog Malfoy’s memory. They were made to leave when he had not recognised them at all.

“It’s fuckin’ mad,” said Seamus loudly across the table. “Can you imagine, just losin’ everythin’ you ever knew?”

Harry tore up his napkin under the table restlessly.

Neville nodded along. “The Slytherins are right panicked, too. I heard they’re all crowded in there with him, and he just keeps staring like he’s never seen ’em before in his life.”

Harry felt nauseous. He didn’t even know why. But he knew he couldn’t stand the idea of just sitting there doing nothing. Not while Malfoy was in the Hospital Wing, devoid of memories and with a crowd of unfamiliar people poking and prodding at him for hours on end.

“At least he still remembers how to walk and talk, and everything like that.” Hermione's voice sounded hopeful.

“On what planet is Malfoy knowing how to talk a good thing?” cried Ron incredulously. Dean gave a loud laugh at that.

Seamus waved the comments off. “But he’s got nothin’ about his life, y’know? He’s practically a blank slate. Can you even imagine?”

“Well,” Hermione said, suddenly an excited glint in her eyes. “Maybe they can monitor him and see what sorts of behaviours are innate or learned! This would be an amazing opportunity for a psychological study.”

“Who the hell cares what about Malfoy makes him such a git?” asked Ron, shoveling potatoes into his mouth. “I’m just glad he was in the Hospital Wing instead of any of my classes this afternoon.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Maybe he wouldn’t be so terrible if he hadn’t been raised the way he was. You know, nature vs. nurture? For all we know, he could be—”

“Oi, Harry, where’re you goin’?”

Seamus’s voice surprised him. Harry had barely even noticed that he’d stood, let alone begun to walk away.

His friends continued to call after him, but he just kept walking. He didn’t think about what made him leave, or what he wanted to get out of it. All he knew was that he was going to the Hospital Wing, and he was going to see Draco Malfoy.

 

 

Harry pushed through the gaggle of Slytherins crowded near Malfoy’s bed. For the first time, he began to wonder whether he should have thought this through a bit more. All around him, students were talking in distressed tones.

“Come on, Draco, we’ve been friends since we were two years old—”

“He didn’t even remember his parents—”

“He didn’t recognise is own name—”

“I can’t believe he doesn’t—”

“Wait, what’s Potter doing here?”

“Get out, Potter! You’ll only upset him!”

“Yeah, can’t you see he’s not well?”

Harry stepped forward.

He saw Malfoy sitting up in bed, his hair for once free of gel, and looking all the more rumpled and soft because of it. His expression was innocent and unguarded as he looked around the room without recognising anything in it.

The next moment, his bright grey gaze landed on Harry.

Harry stared back at his wide eyes, at a loss of what to make of the situation. Draco Malfoy, his arch nemesis since they were children, had no memories. He hadn’t even remembered his parents, his _name_. It was too insane even to process.

Then, Malfoy abruptly threw off the bed sheets and marched over to Harry. He grabbed Harry by the back of his neck and hauled him into a deep kiss.

Harry’s legs almost gave out.

Malfoy’s tongue swept into his mouth, and Harry was so shocked that he just let it happen. He parted Harry’s lips, tongue brushing against his with a simultaneous softness and insistence that made Harry feel faint.

His arms come up to grasp Malfoy’s shoulders—although whether to push him away or pull him farther in, Harry had no idea. Malfoy was kissing him with everything he had, hands threaded in his hair and grasping at it as though desperate to drag him impossibly closer.

Then, the other students were yanking Malfoy back, and looks of horror met the two of them from every face in the room. Not that Harry paid any attention, of course. He just stared at Malfoy, flummoxed beyond basic brain function. And distantly aware that his glasses were askew.

“Let go of me!” Malfoy demanded as he struggled against the hands holding him back. “I belong to him!”

Harry’s glasses were forgotten. “You belong to me?” he repeated, voice about an octave too high.

The other students were as shocked as he was, judging by how their hands slackened. Malfoy tore out of their loosened grips and hurled himself at Harry again. This time, he wrapped his arms around Harry’s torso and buried his face in Harry’s neck. “Yours,” Malfoy confirmed, in a breathy whisper against his skin that sent a shiver down Harry’s spine.

The room was silent for a few moments. And then someone broke the silence by yelling, “What the fuck!”

Or, perhaps, everyone was yelling. Harry had lost the brainpower to identify or care where the sounds came from. “Draco, do you know who he is?!”

“No,” Malfoy replied matter-of-factly.

Oh.

Oh sweet mother of Merlin.

Malfoy withdrew his face from Harry’s neck only in order to snuggle back up against his chest. Once he was settled, he shrugged. “But I know how I feel.”

Harry was reeling so much he thought he might collapse. “How you—feel?” he stammered, so confused he didn’t know where to begin. “What does that even—what do you mean, you don’t know who I am but you know how you _feel_?”

Draco pulled back enough to look at him. He gazed deeply into Harry’s eyes until Harry nearly lost his train of thought. “I don’t know who you are,” he repeated. “But I know who you _are_. When I look at you. I don’t remember anything else. But I know you. You’re my person.”

“I’m your person,” Harry echoed lamely. He was fairly certain his brain was broken.

“Obviously,” Malfoy scoffed, and the tone of his voice was so much like the regular him that it all felt terrifyingly more real.

He reached a hand up and began to toy with the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck. He didn’t seem to notice or care that every tiny touch made Harry's breath hitch. Harry felt at each point of contact like his skin was on _fire_. “I don’t remember exactly what we say, though,” Malfoy went on. “What do we call each other? Boyfriends? Husbands?”

“ _Husbands_?” Harry choked, possibly on his own tongue.

“ _Husbands_?” shrieked at least three people.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing this!”

“Malfoy and Potter, husbands!”

“More like mortal enemies!“

“Shut up!” Harry burst out. He was suddenly desperate to stop everyone from thinking such things, though he had no idea why. He stared at Malfoy. “What do you mean, you know when you look at me?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, as though Harry were being purposefully dense. But still, Harry could see that the eye roll had no malicious intent. Rather, Malfoy looked incredibly fond. “I don’t remember specifics, of course. Not your name or anything. They say I have amnesia. But you’re so familiar. Like you’re the only thing that mattered enough for me to remember. And when I look at you, I know I’m in love with you.”

Harry’s legs did give out now.

He landed on the floor and shakily crossed his legs. Malfoy followed him to the ground and sat beside him as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

Harry was unable speak. His mind was too overwhelmed to think anything at all.

Malfoy was the one who spoke next. He curled himself against Harry’s side, pulling Harry’s limp arm until it wrapped around his waist, and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. “What’s your name?”

Bloody hell. “Harry Potter.”

“Harry Potter,” Malfoy repeated, testing the shape of it inside his mouth and the sound it produced. “Pretty. It suits you.”

Harry was certain he was going to drop dead of heart failure at any moment.

“Now you say my name,” Malfoy prompted. His voice sounded impossibly gentle. “They told me what it is, but it sounded strange. Please, I want to hear you say it.”

 _Merlin, he even said please_. “Draco Malfoy.”

Malfoy considered this. Then, he seemed contented. “I knew it. It’s so much better when you say my name.”

The time for Harry to drop dead of heart failure was imminent.

“Harry, we were so worried when you ran off like th—Merlin’s pants!”

“What the fuck are you doing, mate?”

Hermione and Ron had evidently come to check where Harry had hurried off to. Now, they had stopped frozen in their tracks in the middle of the spectators.

“Er…” Harry began, and simultaneously learned that he was incapable of speech.

“What does it look like?” Malfoy scoffed, as though the answer should be obvious. He reached a hand up and began playing with the collar of Harry’s shirt.

“It looks like you’re bloody cuddling, is what it looks like,” said Ron.

Malfoy ignored him. He directed his next words to Harry. “Who are those people?”

“My friends,” said Harry, voice cracking slightly. “Er...listen. You and I—”

Malfoy sat up and whirled to face him. “What’s wrong? Why are your shoulders tensing up like that?”

 _Because you are Draco Malfoy and you just told me you’re in love with me and now I have to be a sensible human being and react to it._ “Mal—Draco. You and I aren’t—er—well, what I mean is, we’re not together.”

Malfoy…Draco…stared back at him. He seemed utterly undisturbed by Harry’s words. “Yeah, okay.”

“No, I mean it,” Harry said, with more conviction this time. “We hate each other. We’ve been enemies since we were eleven.”

Draco outright laughed now. “Whatever you say, Harry.”

“ _Really_! Ask literally anyone! And…and if you feel like I’m important to you at all, then it’s because you hate me that much.”

It was painful to say. Still, Draco only rolled his eyes. Then he schooled his face into complete seriousness. “Look, Harry. If you really believe I hate you, then I’m so beyond sorry for treating you that way…I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am. And if that means you hate me back, then my heart will be broken forever.”

Harry had no idea why he felt so frantic as he hurried to say, “I don’t hate you.”

Draco’s eyes sparkled at that. “Well, then I’m the luckiest person who ever lived.” Merlin, Draco smiled like the sun. He smiled like Harry had never gotten the chance to see before, and like he’d be damned if he didn’t get to see again. “And I don’t hate you, Harry. I know I never did, either. I could never, ever hate you.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Draco saw the movement and rushed to shut him up by fastening his mouth onto Harry’s again.

Ron may very well have been yelling horrified expletives now, but it was impossible to tell. Harry couldn’t hear anything over the rushing in his own ears.

Not breaking the desperate kiss, Draco somehow found a way to push up and straddle Harry’s lap. Harry let out a squeak, but Draco's mouth muffled the sound. Before Harry’s exploding mind could catch up and make his arms push Draco away, Draco was grabbing Harry’s hands and manoeuvring them onto his hips.

He seemed gratified when he finally felt Harry melt against him. He bit Harry’s lip hard, drawing one last shudder out of him, before pulling back when he felt the last of Harry’s fight seep away.

“I like this look on you,” he whispered softly, taking in Harry’s dazed and well-snogged expression with what could only be described as complete adoration. Harry couldn’t even reply. He was at a loss to do anything else but stare back at the blond boy with slightly unfocused eyes.

Draco seemed pleased by this reaction. Satisfied, he continued with his previous train of thought. “Look. They brought my parents in here. Okay? And I didn’t remember them. Nothing. They said they were my mother and father, and I didn’t feel anything. They were just random people.”

Harry felt his chest tighten at the words. Draco went on.

“They told me my name, and I didn’t recognise it. My own name. It could’ve been any combination of letters in the dictionary, and it wouldn’t have made a difference to me. But I saw you and I knew I loved you." He brought one of Harry's hands to his lips and kissed it. Like a prince in a fairytale, or something. "You’re not my enemy, Harry. You’re my person. I don’t care if anyone says otherwise.”

Harry had the intense urge to pinch himself. This was beyond anything he could ever have thought up, not even in his most bizarre fever dream.

“…Are…are you _sure_?”

Draco sighed, plainly frustrated by Harry’s inability to grasp this. “Yes, I’m bloody well sure. Harry Potter, I love you. I love you _so much_. And I bet I’ve been in love with you from the very first day." He replaced Harry's hand back on his hip, and gave Harry a serious look. "All right? Are we clear on this?”

“I…” Harry swallowed, then drew in a shaky breath. “Yeah. We’re clear.”

“Good,” Draco smiled. “Apparently, I haven’t told you I love you nearly enough. I truly apologise for that, from the bottom of my heart. I can’t even fathom why I'd try to make you think I hated you, when every day it’s my job to give you the world.” He let out a small laugh, oblivious to how his words were quickly stealing Harry’s ability to breathe. “I can’t believe I’m such a good liar that I managed to hide _this_ from you. I love you so much I feel like I’m going to burst with it.”

A few people around them squealed. The noises made Harry jump; he had almost forgotten everyone else’s presences entirely.

“Well?” Draco asked, looking at him as though he were the only person in the room. “Aren't you going to say you’re in love with me, too?”

Harry’s lungs felt like they were going to spontaneously combust. He couldn’t—this wasn’t how he should— “Draco…”

“All right, all right, don’t say it.” Draco sounded slightly inconvenienced but not the least bit discouraged. “You’re clearly overwhelmed enough as it is, so I won’t force it. You’ll say it eventually. I’m in no rush.”

Madam Pomfrey pushed through the crowd suddenly, followed by Professor Slughorn. “What are all of you doing here? Go on, shoo! And—good heavens, what are you two doing on the floor?”

Harry didn’t trust himself enough to supply a response. Fortunately, Draco had no such inhibitions. “It appears he’s a bit surprised by the fact that I’m in love with him, so we’re discussing it. Also, he’s very warm and I’m comfortable.”

Madam Pomfrey blinked. Slughorn stared at them, too, and muttered a faint, “Merlin’s beard.”

Pomfrey recovered herself and seized a phial out of Slughorn’s hands. “Professor Slughorn has prepared the antidote. We’re quite certain this will do the trick.”

For some reason, Harry felt his arms tighten around Draco’s torso, where he hadn’t even realised he’d wound them.

Except, he did know the reason. When Draco drank the antidote, he would remember, and then Harry would lose this. Whatever this was. He would lose it the moment he’d finally gotten it.

Draco turned away from Pomfrey, apparently less concerned with restoring of his entire life’s memories than with Harry’s sudden anxiety.

“Come on, now. It’s all right,” Draco assured him gently. “I’ll still love you just as much when I remember. In fact, I’ll probably love you even more. If that’s humanly possible.”

Harry felt a sharp pain in his chest at that. “No, I really don’t think you will.”

“Well, I know I will. So let me do enough knowing for the both of us.”

Harry shook his head. “Even if you still…even if you did, you would never admit it. You’d act the same, and everything would be just like before.”

Draco found this cause to smile. “Well, convince me then,” he said, as though this should have been obvious.

Harry was about to protest, but then his breath caught. He blinked. Maybe it really was that obvious.

Had it really been that obvious? This whole time?

Draco turned back to Pomfrey, accepting the phial from her with a warm, “Thank you.”

Draco uncorked the phial. Then, inexplicably, he reached out and ran a hand through Harry’s hair. “Beautiful boy…” he whispered, seemingly mostly to himself.

He shook his head affectionately, and then cleared his throat. “See you on the other side,” he bade Harry, shooting him a crooked smile that made Harry’s heart throb.

Draco tilted the phial to his lips and drank the potion.

“Oh, it actually doesn’t taste like anything,” he observed with interest. “I was worried it would—” suddenly, he broke off. His eyes flew open.

The next moment, he was jumping out of Harry’s lap and stumbling away from him, only stopping when his back pressed against the wall and he physically could not get any farther away. “What the ever-loving _fuck_ , Potter!” he shrieked. Even Pomfrey and Slughorn were watching the unfolding scene in awe. They were so rapt that they didn’t even bother to scold Draco for his language.

Harry felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“Draco…”

“No! You—don’t call me—!” His eyes were frantic. He cast about for an escape through the tightly packed crowd and found none. “What? Thought you could take advantage of me while I couldn’t stop you, is that it? Thought you’d have a laugh and make me spill all my bloody secrets, like some perverted—”

Harry’s head was spinning so much that he barely registered the words. But then, it hit him: _Secrets_.

“So, it’s true?” Harry demanded, cutting Malfoy off midsentence and jumping to his feet. Secrets were true things that people tried to hide. His heart filled with sudden and brilliantly shining hope. “You really do love me?”

Draco looked abruptly very pale and very red at the same time. “No I bloody well don’t! I was confused! Why is everyone just standing here? I—I have a massive fucking headache…and…fuck you, Potter! As if I’d ever feel anything other than complete disgust over your entire exis—I didn’t—I obviously don’t—Can’t you see I was confused—”

“You’re rambling,” Harry interrupted. He felt so happy it was insane.

“ _Fuck you!_ Of course I’m rambling! I have a headache and you’re staring at me like you actually _believe_ the bullshit I was spouting while I was barely coherent!”

“Well, I do believe it,” Harry said. He realised the moment the words left his mouth that they were true.

He also realised that the crowd around him was completely silent. He had the strong suspicion that everyone was holding their breath.

“Well, stop believing it! And stop looking at me like that!”

“No,” Harry said. He knew he was grinning like a besotted fool, and he didn’t care one bit. “Not until you admit it.”

“I’m not going to fucking admit anything! I mean—because—because there’s nothing to admit. So I’m not saying one more bloody word about it!”

Harry walked toward Draco until they were face to face. Draco pressed himself further against the wall, looking alarmed at the closeness. “Well,” Harry decided, “then I guess I’ll just have to convince you.”

Draco blanched. “Convince me? What the hell is that supposed to—”

Harry grabbed him by the back of his neck and hauled him into a deep kiss.

The room around them exploded into applause.

Draco’s lips were so soft. For all his shouting before, now he didn’t push Harry away or resist at all. But he didn't kiss back, either. He just stood there and let Harry’s mouth move him, like that was the most Draco could allow himself while still keeping up pretenses that he didn’t feel the same.

But then he began to respond. Slowly, tentatively. It was the most wonderful feeling Harry had ever experienced. Draco tasted like sunshine and dreams come true. It was so magnificent and so surreal that Harry suddenly felt himself laughing against Draco’s lips. He never knew a person could laugh into a kiss before.

Then he noticed that Draco was beginning to tremble.

Harry pulled back to see his face. The Slytherin looked positively terrified.

“Hey, are you—?”

“No I’m not okay!” Draco squeaked. His face was bright red. “I—you can’t—you can’t just—”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, and took a step back at once.

Draco didn’t speak. He didn’t say _yes you should be sorry_ or _fuck off and never speak to me again_. What he did was absently bring a hand up and touch his fingers to his own lips. As though utterly amazed at what had just been pressed against them, and scared to let himself believe such things were possible.

Harry felt himself blush, hard. “I…er…I was hoping that would convince you.”

Draco just stared back at him. Harry had never seen his eyes so wide before.

“I don't want to pressure you,” Harry said. He found himself repeating the words Draco had directed at him earlier. “You don’t have to say anything. You’re clearly overwhelmed as it is, so I won’t force it. And...I'm in no rush.”

Draco swallowed.

“For what it’s worth,” Harry went on, “I love you, too.”

He had thought the world would explode if he ever said it out loud.

Instead, he felt a weight lift off his chest that he hadn’t known he’d been carrying. He wanted to tell Draco he loved him again and again for the rest of his life.

Draco let out a squeal, and then clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle it. His eyes squinched up like he was suddenly trying to stop himself from crying. But Harry knew they were good tears. Everything would be good from now on. He was sure of it.

“Something was bound to happen eventually,” Harry realised, looking about as though seeing everything for the first time. The room around him was brighter and more colourful than he’d ever noticed before. “I never let myself think about it, but…I guess it’s always been pretty obvious, hasn’t it?”

Draco dropped his hand from his mouth and looked like he wanted to argue. Like he was so out of his depth that he wanted to start a fight, simply to bring things back to what he was used to. But he just exhaled shakily. “Yeah…” he said past choked up tears. The word had the air of a confession. “I…I guess it has.”

Harry beamed at him.

That seemed to break the spell on their audience.

“All right, now! Everyone, out. I have to run tests on Mr. Malfoy to make sure he’s recovered his full memory.”

Draco nodded weakly as Madam Pomfrey forced everyone away. He didn’t react to the whines or the complaints or even to the words people called out to him as they left. He just stared at Harry, amazed.

“Yeah, okay,” he murmured in consent to Pomfrey’s tests when she returned. Then he added, even more quietly, “But…I’m sure I’ll be fine. I know Harry. That’s what matters most of all.”

It was more than Harry had expected him to say so soon. The meaning behind the words was as clear as though he’d shouted it from the rooftops: _I love you so much I feel like I’m going to burst with it._

Harry felt like he was going to burst with it, too. He felt like he was glowing from the inside out.

Yes, he agreed. Draco did know him. And, finally, Harry knew Draco, too. That was definitely what mattered most of all.


End file.
